Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(86)

She was one of a kind.

“Have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate your stubborn streak?”

Her head tilted. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “You’re right. We need a plan. Tell me everything you saw.”

“They’re both armed. They had their own guns. Plus, they took ours.”

“If that was Sam who ran from the back of Joleen’s house, he also has a rifle,” Brody remembered.

“Mick has a knife . . .” As Hannah continued to describe their abduction, Brody’s hope sank. He and Hannah were still bound. They had one semi-sharp piece of glass. Their kidnappers were skilled and well armed with at least four semiautomatic pistols. How could he and Hannah possibly survive?





Chapter Thirty-Three

Mac stopped at the traffic light in town and speed-dialed Hannah’s number. Again. No answer. Again. Where was she? Hannah practically kept her cell phone superglued to her hand, but he’d been calling her for an hour, and she hadn’t picked up.

He looked at the photo she’d messaged him. CR 268. What the hell was that? But damn it! There was something familiar about the image. Something from his life a long time ago. The Dark Days, as he called that period of his youth.

He pulled over, a memory nagging at him. Picking up his phone, he opened his messages and stared at the picture.

It popped into his head. He knew where this was taken. He shifted into drive and gunned the gas, trying Hannah’s phone again with his thumb. The call went to voice mail. Something had happened to Hannah. He knew it in his soul.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His sister had needed him, and once again, he’d been unavailable. What the hell? His timing was always crap. He dialed the police station. “I need to speak to Detective Brody McNamara.”

“Hold, please.” Silence. Then, “Detective McNamara is unavailable.”

“I need to speak to someone.”

“Hold, please.”

Screw this. Mac turned toward the police station. He was still holding when he turned into the lot and parked behind the building, another place in Scarlet Falls filled with bad memories. Nothing good ever happened here. He ended his call and went inside. The place was bustling, and not in a good way.

He went into the reception area and approached the counter. Thick glass separated him from the old cop manning the desk.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Detective McNamara.”

The cop said, “Hold on.”

He disappeared. A few minutes later, he came back with another uniformed cop, but this one didn’t look like any cop who had ever arrested Mac. She was tall and slim, with black hair coiled in a severe knot at the nape of her neck.

“I’m Officer Dane. Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Mac Barrett. I’m looking for Detective McNamara and my sister.”

“Can I see some ID?”

Mac pulled out his wallet and passed his driver’s license through the gully under the glass.

“What’s going on?”

She scrutinized his ID.

Mac ran a hand over his two-month beard. He hadn’t shaved or had a real haircut since he left the States, not that he was exactly diligent about those things when he was home. He probably looked as civilized as one of the otters he studied. “I know. I look like a bum. I’ve been in Brazil, out in the rain forest. I’m a wildlife biologist. My passport is out in my Jeep.”

Officer Dane passed his license back. “Come with me, please.”

A lock clicked open on a solid door on the other side of the room. Mac went through into the police station. He knew what bad vibes felt like, and the cops in the station were putting them out like radio waves. For all the activity, there were precious few bodies in the station.

“Officer Dane, where are we going, and what the hell is going on?”

She led him to a conference room. Her frown marred her otherwise perfect face. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

A minute later, a middle-aged man in a fancier uniform came in. He held out a hand. “Mr. Barrett.”

At the Mr. Barrett, Mac almost looked behind him. He shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Police Chief Horner.” He gestured to a chair. “Please have a seat.”

The chief’s somber tone was enough to spin the drive-through burrito in Mac’s stomach.

“Just tell me.”

“Your sister was with Detective McNamara on their way to the county administration building. They disappeared.”

“What do you mean by disappeared?”

“Someone blew up a bridge, and we found the vehicle rolled down the embankment. Neither Detective McNamara nor Ms. Barrett were inside.” The chief buttoned up. There was more he didn’t want to say.

“What else? There’s more, isn’t there?”

“There was blood in the front seat of the vehicle.”

“Shit.” Mac jumped to his feet. “Earlier today, my sister sent me a picture and asked me if I knew where it was taken. I think I do.”

The chief stood. “Where?”

Mac took out his phone and opened the message. “CR 268. I think CR stands for Conrail. This looks like part of the markings on the side of a freight car.”